


Remind me (Every Single Day)

by mybrotherharry



Series: The Omega Oliver Queen Chronicles [3]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alpha John Diggle, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Breathplay, Dom/sub Undertones, Getting Together, In this universe omegas are submissive?, Kneeling, Knotting, M/M, Oliver is a terrified muffin cause he isnt used to male alphas being nice to him, Omega Oliver Queen, Oral Knotting, Oral Sex, Relationship Negotiation, Romance, i dont know how to tag that, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:21:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21874354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mybrotherharry/pseuds/mybrotherharry
Summary: John rushes back to the foundry to make Oliver his. He's waited for this day for so long..
Relationships: John Diggle/Oliver Queen
Series: The Omega Oliver Queen Chronicles [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1546597
Comments: 6
Kudos: 72





	Remind me (Every Single Day)

**Author's Note:**

> Upcoming sexy times. Consider yourself warned.. but if you hung around this long, I guess you knew this was coming.

They get back to the bunker in record time.

Digg actually doesn't get to see him till they get back, cause Oliver takes his bike and Digg returns with the rest of the team. 

Curtis throws an inactive T-sphere at his face in the jeep. "Stop smiling like that, you're making me sick," Curtis snaps.

"I am not smiling," Digg lies.

"Dude, it’s written on your face that you're imagining our boss naked, and I don't need to see that," Dinah states plainly.

John ignores most of the ensuing argument about whether Oliver is their 'boss' or not. 

He may or may not actually be imagining Oliver naked and spread out for him.. 

When they get back, Felicity is standing at the entrance, ready with a hug for John.

"Congratulations," she tells him, giving him a peck on his cheek. "It's about damn time."

"I thought you put us on a secure line," Digg can't help but ask.

"He came back in here a few minutes ago," she informs him, "with maybe a little millimeter of a smile? Which for Oliver is the equivalent of waving pom poms and sky writing, so I figured what the news probably is."

"Thank you, Felicity," John says sincerely, eyes scanning the lair behind her for the one person he wants to see.

"He jumped in the shower," she tells him, reading his expression correctly. 

The rest of the team files in from behind him. 

"Guys," Felicity says in a loud voice, "everybody, go home," she orders. "We'll debrief tomorrow."

"But -" Curtis begins. 

"You heard the lady, Curtis," John says with a chuckle.

"Right," Dinah says, pulling off her gloves. "An early night for team Arrow? You guys need to have emotional declarations on the comms more often."

They leave one by one, giving John hugs and hearty wishes. Felicity is the last to go. 

"I am glad you're okay with this," John tells her with sincerity. "I know you love him."

"I do," she confesses. "And a part of me always will. But we didn't work as a couple. And I think you can be really good for him, John."

"Thank you, Felicity."

"Go rescue him before he drowns in the shower second guessing himself," she says, turning off her computers. "Also, please remember the clorox wipes are in the cabinet under the -"

"Go home, Felicity."

"Right, good night," she steps on her tippy toes to kiss him, and goes on her way.

Taking off his jacket and gloves, Diggle makes his way to the bathroom. He sees the green leathers thrown on a bench in the antechamber, still warm to the touch. He picks it up and holds the jacket to his nose, sniffing deeply. He is allowed to do this now. He is allowed to scent his omega - HIS omega. He hangs up the leathers and knocks on the bathroom door. 

"Planning on coming out any time soon?" 

There is silence, and the sound of the electric razor.

"In a minute," Oliver replies. John sits himself down on the little bench, facing the door waiting for the moment it will open and he can kiss the most beautiful omega on the planet. 

He's imagined this moment in some of his most daring fantasies, during those horrible months when Oliver had been shutting him down and John couldn't even touch the man without breaking his promise. Even when he had no reason to believe that Oliver would ever want the things that John does, he had hoped.

His fantasies have all involved Oliver, stubbornly fighting him every step of the way before admitting that he wanted it too. That he wanted the life they could build together.

John is so lost in his thoughts that he nearly misses the bathroom door sliding open. He looks up.

The place is covered in steam, and Oliver steps outside. He's dressed himself in a pale blue shirt and trousers, and is fiddling with the hem of his shirt, looking down at his feet. Even though John can't see his face, he can tell that Oliver is blushing red.

He is the most beautiful thing John's ever seen.

Diggle can't say anything. He just wants to sit on this bench and watch Oliver forever, watch him stand at the bathroom door, his hands playing with the hem of his shirt, his chin ducked, vibrating with nervous energy. But John knows that for every moment that he sits quietly on the bench, Oliver will second guess himself and get trapped in his own head.

He gets on his feet and steps closer to the other man, still careful not to touch. 

"Are you gonna look at me at all?" he asks, surprised at himself for how soft his voice is.

Oliver looks up, his eyes piercing blue and meets Diggle's gaze. When John takes him in, he has to let out a surprised gasp.

"Did you - you shaved?"

Oliver swallows and nods, looking away. John didn't mean to make him self-conscious.

"It's such an old fashioned tradition," John marvels, unable to believe himself. "Did you think - hey, look at me - did you think I would want you to?"

Oliver's eyes meet his again, and John can read the sentiment behind them clearly. Fear. Uncertainty. Nervousness. A tad bit of excitement. He knows what he must do.

"You look lovely," he says, infusing as much sincerity as he possibly can. "But for the record, you don't need to shave for me. Or do anything for me." Oliver runs his tongue over his bottom lip, still shaking with nervous energy, but at John's words, he flushes scarlet.

John drinks in the sight, and instantly makes a decision. 

"Alright," he says. He picks up his own discarded leather jacket and hands it to Oliver. "Throw this on. I am taking you home."

"John?" Oliver looks confused.

"I was going to put the bunker on lockdown and not let you out of my sight for the next few hours," he explains, and feels smugly satisfied when Oliver's cheeks color again, "but when you look like that for me, I gotta take you somewhere better than a cold lair and a hard cot. Come on, we're going to my place."

"We don't have to," Oliver says, and John really likes it. Likes that Oliver is eager too. That he isn't alone in feeling like his skin is about to crawl off his bones.

"I know we don't have to," he agrees, and thrills at watching Oliver's shoulders be swaddled in John's dark jacket. "But I would like to see you in my bed tonight. Any objections? Cause if you have any, I can just go home right now, let you catch up on some sleep."

He waits for Oliver to give him one of his death glares, which he does right on cue. It's telling that John finds it rather adorable now.

He walks beside Oliver all the way to his car, and opens the passenger side door for him. Oliver rolls his eyes at him, making it clear that he is indulging John right now, and John better cut this out from becoming a long time thing.

"I suppose you'll remove one of my fingers if I try to belt you in," John laughs, leaning over him in the seat.

"You suppose correctly," Oliver grumbles, tugging his seat belt on and staring down at his lap.

Laughing, John shuts the door, comes around the car and gets in. 

He has been careful to not touch Oliver since getting back, and he knows that the other man has noticed. 

When they're on the way, he sees Oliver fidgeting in his seat, the silence comfortable but charged.

"Can I ask why now?" he asks once they're close enough to the apartment. Digg lives close to the lair.

"You mean, um - tonight?"

"Yeah," John replies. "It came outta nowhere."

"I have been thinking about it," Oliver admits. "You knew that."

"I did," John says. "I still can't believe it."

"You have been very patient with me, John," Oliver says. "I know I don't say it often enough, but I really appreciate you giving me space."

"You know you don't owe me anything, right?" John jumps to clarify. "I wasn't waiting you out cause you owed me something. I want this to be your choice, Oliver."

Oliver looks at him. "It is." He promises. "John, this is my choice."

They spend the rest of the ride in silence, with John stealing glances at the other man. Oliver gives up on fidgeting with the sleeves of John's jacket and stares out the window, occasionally turning back to stare at John. 

Once they reach the apartment, John puts the car in park, and gets out. Oliver releases his seat belt, but sits inside the car, waiting. When John comes around to his side and opens the door, he raises his eyebrows at him. "Go on," Oliver smiles. "I know you want to do it."

“Is this how this is going to be?” John asks, folding his arms over his chest. “You indulging me?”

“I can be difficult if you want,” Oliver laughs, eyes twinkling.

“You mean more than usual?” John asks, but he is laughing. He leans down, and makes a motion to pick him up but stops. 

"What?" Oliver asks.

"Remember our deal?"

"John," Oliver scoffs, disbelieving. "Are you serious right now?"

"A deal's a deal, Oliver."

Instead of rolling his eyes in amusement, which is what John expects him to do, Oliver actually looks away, blinking his eyes rapidly.

"Hey," John asks, trying to understand.

"You really won't, huh?" Oliver asks, his voice hoarse. "Not unless I ask?"

"Not unless you ask," John agrees. "Question is, are you going to ask or not?"

Oliver looks back at him, at where John is leaning over the side of the car with the door open, waiting for Oliver to make his choice.

"Please touch me, John," Oliver says, never taking his gaze away from Diggle. "Touch me."

Diggle hasn't touched his best friend in six months. He hasn't even brushed shoulders with him. He hasn't felt the warmth of his embrace or sparred with him in six months.

This feels like coming home.

Oliver's arms go around his neck, as Diggle braces himself with one hand around Oliver's back and another under his thighs. He lifts Oliver out of the car, and slams the door shut behind them using his leg and walks up the driveway, never looking away from the omega in his arms.

"How does that feel?" Oliver teases, warm and perfect against his chest. 

"Better than I imagined," John answers honestly, leaning closer to press their lips together. Without the usual bristle on Oliver's chin, it feels different but nice. When they get to the door, Oliver leans closer and presses his palm to the security pad. The door unlocks and John steps inside without having to put Oliver down.

"Would it be presumptuous if I carried you straight to the bedroom?" he asks, his voice quiet.

"If you don't take me there," Oliver laughs, "I will one hundred percent put an arrow in you."

"What is it with you and putting arrows in people," John asks him, his tone teasing. "Like a hobby or something?"

"Occasional leisure time activity," Oliver plays along as John carries him through the hallway. "I hear some people just collect stamps. Wonder what that's like?"

"Sounds immeasurably boring," John says, stepping inside the bedroom and gently placing Oliver on the bed. He flips the switch, deluging the room in muted yellow light. The curtains are drawn, and the house is quiet, and forms the perfect backdrop to John noticing several things. 

His sheets are a beautiful navy blue, and Oliver's pale skin and golden hair against the dark material makes the breath catch in John's throat. He is wearing a pale blue shirt, and under the light in the room, his blue eyes look strinkingly beautiful. Identifying John's gaze, he flushes on the bed, suddenly quiet and shy.

"That's a good color on you," John says when the silence has stretched long enough. "The shirt, I mean," he explains, and tries to resist ripping the thing off of him. 

"Wasn't sure if you would want me dressed," Oliver confesses, still not moving from where John had put him. "In the bunker, I mean. When I showered, I wasn't - erm, sure. Figured you would enjoy getting me out of it, at least. Hopefully?" He looks up at him, his eyes big and questioning.

"You really have no idea, do you?" he climbs up the bed, hovering over Oliver. "You have no idea how much I want you."

"So I should have come out of the bathroom naked?" 

Diggle chokes on air, imagining what he would have done if Oliver had stepped out like that, freshly shaved and pliant for him. 

"God," he breathes, pressing his face between Oliver's shoulder and neck. "You need to come with a warning label."

Oliver laughs, and Diggle decides right away that the sound belongs in his bedroom, caressing his skin. Making an executive decision, he gets up and off the bed and enjoys Oliver's pouting at the loss of contact.

"What -?"

Digg crouches by the foot of the bed and gently pulls of Oliver's loafers, and then his socks.

"Are you undressing me?"

"You figured I would like doing that," John says. "Turns out, I really do."

His fingers unbutton the trousers, and pull down the fly. In one tug, he yanks the trousers and boxers down Oliver's long legs, exposing him to the cold air of the room. Oliver's beautiful cock is already at half mast, interested in the proceedings. John then moves up the bed, unbuttoning the blue shirt slowly and coaxing Oliver's arms out of the fabric. He throws the clothes off to the side, uncaring in anything except the expanse of warm skin under him. 

He leans over the side and tugs out one end of the blue sheet, wrapping Oliver in it in a weird half burrito. The sheet covers Oliver below the waist, making his pale skin glow against the blue material, his golden hair and blue eyes making him look ethereal.

"John?" Oliver asks, and he sounds confused.

"You look beautiful," John says. "I think I could stare at you all night."

Oliver flushes again, his pupils widening at the thought. "Please don't," he requests.

"Maybe another night," John agrees, because he is only human. He unwraps Oliver out of the blue sheet, and goes about chucking his own clothes and shoes. He is naked in under a minute, and sees that Oliver is pressing his fists into the mattress, trying not to reach out.

"Never figured you would be the wait-for-permission kinda omega," John says softly, climbing up the bed and getting on top of Oliver.

Oliver flushes, "Hey, I can be good," he insists, "I can be really good."

"I know you can, baby," John says, drawling the endearment. "I remember how good you were for me."

Remembering the heat they shared together warms Oliver's skin, and he ducks his head shyly, his eyes twinkling.

"Yeah, you were beautiful for me," John presses a kiss down Oliver's chest. "But you can touch now. Go on."

Instantly, Oliver puts his hands on Diggle's hips, his skin warm and solid. Daring now, and happy to have permission, one hand goes further south, grasping him firmly and beginning to stroke. 

"Didn't get to do this last time," Oliver murmurs, "Wanted to."

"Should have said something," Diggle pants against his mouth. Oliver's hand is skilled and relentless, his thumb teasing the head of John's cock.

Oliver laughs against his chest, the sound musical and beautiful. "Do you not remember what you did to me?" He asks, "You didn't let me come for two days, John. I was barely coherent."

John closes his eyes, biting his lip, giving in to the sensation of Oliver's hand, "Is this revenge, then?"

"Depends," Oliver grasps the base of John's cock and makes a vice of his hand, making John groan, "Are you planning on letting me come tonight?"

"Night's young, Oliver," Diggle says, his voice promising exciting things, "we'll see how good you are for me."

"Let me show you how good I can be," In one swift move, Oliver rolls them so that he's on top of Digg. Wanting to give Oliver everything he wants, Digg goes along, going limp and letting Oliver explore. Oliver licks his way down John's pecs, and down his firm abs before sucking him down to the root. John curses, the sensation of Oliver's velvety hot mouth sinking down on his flesh making him cry out.

"Oh fuck," he bites down on his tongue.

With one hand, he grasps the back of Oliver's head, fingers playing with his hair, feeling the man bob up and down his shaft. He is talented at this, so talented in a way that implies plenty of practice, but John doesn't wanna think about how Oliver might have picked up these skills. 

Not right now.

Too soon, he is on the edge, about to spill down Oliver's throat.

"Oliver," he groans, trying to warn his beautiful lover when Oliver pulls off his cock.

"Come down my throat," he asks, his eyes dancing with smugness, like he is thrilled about the state he's reduced John to.

John tries to ignore his hindbrain to protest. "No you'll -"

"I'll nothing," Oliver says stubbornly. "I can take it." He must realize John won't give in, cause he makes his eyes wide and pleading. "Please alpha," he says right on cue, as John's will shatters. "Knot my mouth."

John stares at him, unable to believe how he got to be so lucky. "Please, John?" Oliver begs.

John grabs him by the back of his head and pushes him down on his cock, making him take it. Oliver swallows him down as John starts spilling down his throat, the warm flesh massaging him and milking him dry. He is thrusting into Oliver's throat, blocking off his air as he sucks John down. Soon enough, the base of his cock expands and locks behind Oliver's teeth, widening his jaw impossibly. John looks down, and meets Oliver's eyes, pupils a thin circle of blue, staring up at him like John's giving him everything he ever wanted. The sight makes him spill even more, and he watches Oliver's throat work.

He's got to be running out of air. John caresses his hair lovingly, watching Oliver gasp and struggle against his flesh.

"You suffer beautifully for me," John praises. "You're perfect, sweetheart. So beautiful."

Oliver's throat works overtime around him as his body registers the lack of air, and that John can't dislodge till the knot goes down. Oliver hangs on, and John's heart breaks thinking that someone must have done this to him before, some alpha must have taught him this, and John can only hope that it was something Oliver wanted.. 

When John breaks free, Oliver takes a long, deep, noisy breath of air, panting as he falls on top of John, his neck and face flushed with exertion. John pulls him close, rubbing a hand down his back in a comforting motion, letting Oliver bury his face in his chest.

"You're okay," he says. "You were perfect. You did beautifully." He leans down to kiss Oliver's mouth and tastes himself on his tongue.

"Did you -" Oliver's voice is hoarse, it's nearly Arrow-levels of hoarse. "- like it?"

_Unbelievable. This man._

John takes his face between his hands and kisses him again.

"I can't believe you're real, sweetheart," he says and watches Oliver blush.

"Sweetheart?" Oliver asks, laughing. 

"Would you prefer honeybunches?"

"Stop it," he says but he is grinning, hiding his face in John's neck. 

"Nope," John tells him. "Gotta pick a nickname, or I'll have to pick for you. Sugarmuffin."

"John," Oliver laughs, shutting him up by giving him a nice, long kiss.

"This is nice," John tells him. "But you didn't finish."

"Don't wanna," Oliver says, biting at John's collarbone. "Like what we did."

"Do you?"

"I can wait," Oliver promises, blushing again. "I know what you like."

Years before, practically a lifetime ago, when they'd been near strangers, they had slept together for the first time. It was Oliver's first year in the hood, and it had just been an alpha friend helping out an omega. John remembers the two of them lying together in the aftermath, and explaining to Oliver what he would have done if Oliver had been his.

"You remember?" John asks him now, stunned that Oliver keeps that memory close.

"Your omega gets to come on your knot, or not at all," Oliver recites. "Some might say you have a denial fixation."

"Some might say that," John laughs. "You didn't have a problem with it when I made you wait."

Oliver goes rigid on top of him, and mumbles something into John's skin.

"What was that?"

More mumbling.

"Loud and clear, omega," John uses a little bit of authority in his voice to get Oliver moving. 

Sure enough, Oliver shudders on top of him, but raises his head up to say, "Wanted to suffer for you."

An omega's suffering, willingly given, is a precious gift. 

John has to kiss him for that, because how could he not. "I'll remember," John promises. "But I want you to come.”

"I am fine," Oliver kisses him again. "I am just happy that I got to do this with you."

“Me too,” John promises. “But I want to see you make a mess of my sheets. Here,” he grabs Oliver by the hips and moves him over his crotch. “Ride me.”

“So soon?” Oliver asks, one eyebrow raised in surprise.

“You have no idea how hot you are,” John points out, tugging on one perky nipple, watching the man groan. “Go on.”

Oliver pumps Diggle’s hard cock, watching it firm up in his hand. Hovering over the head and lining up, he starts to sink down slowly. When the head breaches past his rim, he stops, the stinging burn causing his eyes to well up.

“Keep going,” Digg orders, watching his face. 

Oliver huffs, “You - are - supposed - to - be - nice - to - me,” he pants out, sinking down another couple of inches.

“This _is_ me, being nice to you,” Digg chuckles, but he has to bite down on a groan in the next minute as Oliver sinks down completely, wrapping John in tight warmth.

“God,” Oliver groans, hands trying to find purchase on Diggle’s sweaty chest, “John - John - you’re so big -”

“Ride me,” John orders, and watches Oliver move around his cock, his head thrown back, his nipples puffy, his chest arching forward. Besotted, John puts a large hand at Oliver’s abdomen, feeling the rippling bulge where he is pressed inside. 

He’s never noticed how slender Oliver’s waist is. He’s usually traced his eyes along the width of the man’s shoulders and the lines of his back, but he’s never realized how that broad back tapers down to this amazing waist.. 

“Are you - what are you doing?”

“Watching,” Digg answers. Drops of sweat drip down Oliver’s hair and onto Dig’s stomach. The effort to keep riding him seems to take its toll, and even though Oliver is in the best shape of his life, Digg figures he will have to take over soon. “Watching how tiny you are next to me.”

Oliver’s fingers pinch at his side, hard. “Do you _want_ me to get off your cock? Cause I will. Right now.”

“I wanna call your bluff,” Digg laughs, “but I am too comfortable right now.”

“Digg,” Oliver says, and there’s enough of a whine in it that Digg flips them over. 

“I got you,” he says, putting Oliver on his back, and folding his legs over his shoulders. Oliver lets them cross over Digg’s back. “You lie back and float, babe.”

He must be thrusting just right, cause Oliver doesn’t even make a comeback about the _babe_ endearment. Holding on to Oliver’s hips, Digg starts fucking in hard and fast and gets rewarded when Oliver makes sweet, gasping sounds.

“I have dreamed of this,” he whispers by Oliver’s ear, leaning close and pressing his lips over the nape of his neck. The spot of skin is clear, just begging for Digg to put a bite there. “I have dreamed of having you like this.”

“John -” Oliver breathes out, but whatever he was going to say next is lost when Digg angles his hips just right.

“Come for me,” he orders, and Oliver clenches around him, coming hard, his fingernails pressing tracks down Diggle’s back. John holds him through it, but he can’t stave off the storm much longer. He presses inside, deep and reaching and holds himself there as he empties. Oliver leans up and kisses him, tongue probing and stubborn. Digg lets him in, kissing back with enthusiasm.

“Ohh,” Oliver gasps when the base of John’s cock swells, stretching on his rim painfully. John adjusts them on the bed, putting them on their side and spoons Oliver from behind.

“Hush,” he quiets, “it’ll be alright in a minute.”

“I know,” Oliver whispers. “I have actually done this before, John.”

“But never as good, right?”

Oliver laughs against into the crook of his arm. “Now you’re just fishing.”

“Always, baby,” Digg bites the curve of his ear.

“Digg,” Oliver says, still staring at the opposite wall.

“Yeah?” John answers, kissing down Oliver’s neck.

“Thank you for saying yes,” Oliver says honestly, pressing back against John. “To being my alpha.”

“Believe me, Oliver,” he runs a hand through Oliver’s blond hair at the nape of his neck, “it’s my pleasure.”

~

The next morning, the spot beside Diggle on the bed is empty. He isn't surprised. Oliver wakes up before him. Years of waking up with the sun on the island means that Oliver is up at the crack of dawn. John didn't actually expect him to hang around for as long as he did last night. Oliver doesn't sleep well in unfamiliar places.

It's probably why Digg gets the surprise of his life when he walks into the living room to find Oliver on his knees, nude, with his head bent low.

"The hell -" he jumps, startled. "Oliver, what are you doing?"

"I made breakfast," he says, addressing his knees, which are resting on the rough, hardwood floor. He didn't even put a pillow down? 

John grabs one off the couch, places it beside Oliver and directs him to it. "Get on the cushion if you wanna kneel," he orders. He can see something's off with Oliver's behavior, but he doesn't want to make him self-conscious right now. Not when the omega is already nervous about pleasing John.

Oliver scoots on to the cushion, head still bowed.

"If you want to kneel for me," John says, his voice soft, running his fingers through Oliver's hair, "you need to put a cushion down first, okay? I don't want you on the hard floor. Say you understand."

"I understand," Oliver recites, pressing close to John's legs.

"Good boy," he says, and feels Oliver shudder against him.

Something is very off.

"Did you eat?" he asks instead, ignoring the nagging sense of unease filling him.

Oliver shakes his head.

"But you made breakfast," John says, even more confused now. He walks into the kitchen and sees four plates in a row, covered with foil, still warm to the touch. He opens them one by one. Pancakes. Fried Eggs. Waffles. Scrambled Eggs, with a side of potatoes.

"Couldn't decide on just one?" he turns around to ask Oliver, who's still frozen on his spot on the living room floor. "Come in here, please," he calls.

He puts the plate of eggs and potatoes in the oven to heat them up, and starts rummaging for his bottle of syrup. Oliver doesn't take syrup with his pancakes - the man is very particular about what he puts in his body, like Felicity once observed - but John likes a sweet breakfast. When he turns around, he is surprised to see Oliver crawling to him.

"Oh, Oliver," he puts the jar down. "You can walk. In fact, climb up here. Sit down. We're going to eat together."

John sits on one of the bar stools, and pulls another one closer so Oliver can sit, but Oliver bypasses it to climb up on John's lap instead. Thrilled, Dig grabs him by the hips and scoots him closer, giving him another kiss of reward. "Hi," he smiles.

"Hi," Oliver smiles back, but before he can meet John’s eyes, he looks away. That’s when John sees it - the slight tremor passing through the other man’s body, and the way he is clenching his hands into fists.

“Okay,” John says, catching on, “we need to talk. Now. Go put some clothes on.”

Oliver looks up at him, his eyes widening in surprise. John figures it’s probably because not a lot of alphas have asked Oliver to put his clothes back on. A part of John can certainly see the appeal. He would love to keep Oliver in his bed indefinitely, but they have both got responsibilities, and a city to save. 

“Go on,” John prompts again. “Get dressed.”

Oliver walks to the bedroom, and John can see him visibly counting down from hundred in his head, his go-to method to calm down when he doesn’t have a bow and a bunch of tennis balls handy. John pours a couple of glasses of orange juice, and starts divvying up the food onto two plates.

When Oliver comes back, John’s set the table properly for two and gestures Oliver to one of the other stools. Oliver sits down, and John is pleased to see that he sits comfortably, obviously not too sore from their activities of the previous night.

“So, you’re driving yourself up the wall, huh?”

Oliver doesn’t look at him, but reaches for the glass. John takes this as a good sign.

“Oliver.”

“I - I haven’t - I don’t -” he stops, and takes a deep breath. “I haven’t done this before, John. I am not - I can’t be a typical omega.”

“I don’t expect you to be,” John says right away, because he suspected this. “And you _have_ done this before. Or did you forget that I know you dated Felicity?”

“Felicity and I were _different,”_ Oliver grunts out.

“Because she’s a female alpha?” John is pretty sure this is part of it. “Or ‘cause I am a male alpha?”

“No,” Oliver shakes his head. “Or maybe that’s it. I don’t know how to explain.”

“Try,” Digg requests. “Please.”

“Felicity didn’t care if I kneeled for her,” he begins. “She didn’t want me to cook, or clean. And she was okay with me being gone all hours of the day, cause she was usually right beside me -”

“I don’t care if you kneel for me,” Dig explains. “I don’t need you to cook, or clean. When you’re gone all hours of the day, so will I. We work together. In fact, we will spend more time together than Felicity and you did. _Both_ my day and night jobs are to protect _you_.”

Oliver meets his eyes, and smiles, soft and warm and heartbreaking. John continues, “But you knew these things already. Tell me what’s really freaking you out.”

“I don’t - I don’t know,” Oliver answers, looking a little lost.

“Let’s start with breakfast,” he says, gesturing Oliver to his plate to nudge him into eating. Oliver slowly picks up a fork and goes for the eggs. “What was the thought process there?”

“I - I couldn’t figure out what you would like,” Oliver mumbles into his eggs. 

“So you made one of everything?”

Oliver nods, swallowing a bite of eggs. 

“For future reference,” John explains, “I like toast and eggs, but I am not particular. I’ll grab a banana when I have to.” He puts his own fork down and reaches across the counter to tilt Oliver’s chin up. “Oliver.”

Oliver gulps, and takes another sip of juice. 

“Oliver,” John tries again. “I need you to stop freaking out. I need you to trust me. You don’t have to change anything about yourself. All I want is _you_.”

“I know that, Digg,” Oliver says, but he sounds like he barely believes it.

“Do you, though?”

“I do,” Oliver nods again, voice firmer this time. “But I think you will need to remind me for a bit, until I remember on my own.”

John smiles at him, at how shy and hesitant and _brave_ Oliver is being for him, and says, “I’ll remind you every single day.”

~

**The End (ha ha nope)**

**Author's Note:**

> I treasure every single one of your comments and kudos, I really really do. Thank you so much, and if you liked this, please come say hi!  
> I am also on tumblr [here.](https://baffledkingcomposinghallelujah.tumblr.com/)


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